


The Lost Boys

by Adoubletap



Series: Sincerely Yours [1]
Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 3, Far Cry 4
Genre: Dedicated to my rare pair ship VaasPagan, F/M, First of a (hopefully) short series, M/M, Murder, Racism, They’re all kids but no less messed up, implied underaged, very very vague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:49:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22627372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adoubletap/pseuds/Adoubletap
Summary: Boys will be boys. When they meet other boys, one trying to kill the other, it’s fair game.
Relationships: Implied Vaas/Citra, Squint and you miss it - Relationship, Vaas Montenegro/Pagan Min, VaasPagan
Series: Sincerely Yours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627876
Kudos: 11





	The Lost Boys

**Author's Note:**

> No, I am not a Spanish speaker.

Vaas was a child once, much as he would deny it. Narrow eyed and bitter beyond his years as he picked at the scabs of his fists, angrily tore at the crusty bandages wrapped over them as he balanced a cigarette between his teeth at the same time. He was a load of dynamite ready to blow and take out anyone who happened to be. Ah, the innocence of youth. 

He’d been sent off by his sister to fulfill his first task to prove to her that he truly loved her. Or rather, she’d manipulated him as she did all of their people, into doing the dirty deeds that would lead to her conquering the hopes of the Rakyat in an iron grip. For now, she was a younger sister to Vaas. Calm, quiet, and even more dangerous than her brother. She had Vaas by the short hairs to do her bidding, regardless of how much more deadly her words could be. 

This day, she’d sent Vaas to do something that even he had never done before. He made his way through the bushes of his jungle home, crawled over the debris of ancient Rakyat civilization, pissed in the bunkers of long gone Japanese soldiers and Chinese colonists as he traveled far to reach his goal. His burden was simple, if not a little scary given the severity of it.

Find a man of seemingly great importance and kill him. 

Simple enough when said, but in practice, it made Vaas’s nervous heart beat unbearably hard. He tossed a glance at a nearby village, watching the people go about their day working to supplement their little economy while the children chased each other or helped to heard their livestock. Vaas scoffed at their playing, pushing bast thick greenery to leave this place. There was no one of great importance there. Only simple men with simple minds who Vaas’s sister would not be impressed with if he killed one of them and dragged them back to her.

“I need a man,” Citra said, stroking her brother’s cheek as he rested his head in her lap, “A great man. And I need you to bring him to me. Once I have him, I will show our people that he bleeds like any other. Just another dog wearing a fancier collar.” She took Vaas’s cheeks in her hands as she made him look into her eyes to see how serious she was. “Be a good brother. Kill him, and bring his carcass to me. Doing so will show that the Rakyat are far from dead. We will rise, and everyone will see that we are not a people to be fucked with.”

Vaas felt his stomach twist into knots, biting his bottom lip as he tugged away from her grip. “Vaas,” she pressed, speaking less diplomatically, and more like his little sister who had only asked for him to spare some candy, “If you love me, then you would.”

It was a dirty trick to get him to do what she told him to. And it had worked. Vaas would do anything for Citra. Ever since tragedy had struck and they were left orphans at the mercy of broken Rakyat men, he had always watched out for her. She was his only family, and he was damned if he would let anyone touch his sister in anyway. It had taken not long before Citra had him bent over on his hands and knees before her, eager to do her bidding. 

It had become to him years later, as he puffed on a cigar and spat into the ground of his employer’s home base of operations, catching and selling people into human trafficking, that Vaas began to realize that Citra likely had to do with why they were orphans in the first place. He remembered how she used hers and her brother’s pitiful facade to trick people into serving them. She was cunning, as he was untamed. Her words could pluck at the hearts of those who were too stupid to see that she was playing them like a fiddle, and once they were trapped in her snare, they would follow any of her desires to please her. Vaas was impressed. Eight-year-old girl with grown men swearing allegiance to her cause. 

Not two years older than her, and Vaas was out for blood. He fiddled with the trigger of a Colt M1909, feeling its metallic chill as he stroked his thin fingers over the handle. An old model of pistol, a relic from a world war, stolen from the skeleton of an abandoned soldier in one of the bunkers that he had pissed in. Vaas had fumbled with arming it, careful not to set it off and accidentally shoot into his brains. That would be a stupid way to go.

As Vaas neared the beach, where many unfortunate tourists were known to land on his island of Rook, he spotted an unusual site among the surprisingly minimal traffic of the day. Dark hair with trimmed sides, a powder blue suit patterned with details designs, and polished blood red loafers, walked a teenaged boy who was looking so out of place here where people dressed loosely in tank tops, bikinis, and shorts. The boy looked positively peeved that he was surrounded by people who clearly didn’t have any sense of fashion or self restraint as some were rowdy drunks tossing beers at each other. The girls that accompanied them tittered as they pointed rather openly at the well dressed teenager, mocking him as they pinched their fingers to the corners of their eyes and pulled until they were slanted, saying to each other, “Look! It’s Hong Kong Fooey! Ching chong, Mister! Ding Dong,” and laughed as they raced away from the teenage boy they mocked.

Vaas gave a one sided frowned as he watched, well experienced in the passive racism these white folks often threw at him and his fellow Rakyat as they stomped all over the island like it was theirs. The teenaged boy looked on at the girls with a look that could kill. It sent a shiver down Vaas’s spine at the look. There was little doubt in his mind that this other boy was of some importance, what with the way that he dressed and how he held himself like he were king of the world. 

Vaas was going to kill him.

He followed this other boy while hiding behind towering canopies of trees, and lush underbrush that seemed unfazed by how he stomped over them, reassembling as though sentient enough to do so. It irritated Vaas most of all how while things were terrible for him and Citra, the whole world kept spinning like nothing was out of line at all. He pushed those thoughts away as he followed the boy in the stupid foppish suit until he stood alone at the edge of the island. He looked deep in thought, if not a little resentful for whatever reason, while he watched the tide crawl to the tips of his fancy shoes, and retreated as it bubbled sea foam. 

Vaas readied his gun as he drew closer to the other boy, taking deep, calming breaths to prepare for his ambush. One pop, maybe two, and this fetching motherfucker would go down like any other man. Citra had said so. “We all bleed red,” she’d said to Vaas when he exclaimed his excuses not to go through with the murder, “But some of use prefer to watch a specific person go down drowning in it. Make sure that it is one of the privileged few that spit on our lands as they dance across our graves.” And oh, Vaas intended to do so. Eventually.

The other boy looked at his wrist to get the time. Gold, embedded with diamonds. There was no end to how much this rich kid needed to die. Vaas approached him, discreetly stepping as quietly as he could while the sand beneath his feet laid deep tracks of his steps. A little more, just a little more, and Vaas could even get in the last word before this other guy could even retort. 

“Ever danced with the devil in the pale moonlight,” he could say. Or ... or that other great movie line. “Your mother sucks cocks in hell!” Yeah, yeah! That was a good one! 

As Vaas steadily approached his target, his pistol right beneath the other boy’s shoulders, the other boy tilted his head to one side as he spared a glance back at Vaas. “I do hope you’ve come up with a good one liner before you shoot me,” he addressed Vaas. Vaas froze. What the fuck?!

The teenaged boy pivoted on his heels to face Vaas, his expression bored as he saw this much younger boy tremble with his gun pointed at him. He quirked a brow at the hand, his eyes flicked from it to Vaas’s nervous expression as he placed his weight on one foot, hand in his pocket as he used the other to card through his hair.

“Pagan min,” the teenager said to Vaas, “And I suppose you must be the welcoming party. Looking for Gang Min? If so, I could tell you where he is. Dealing with your Hoyt Volker over some misgivings about some deal they made not too long ago.” He smiled grimly, and stared as if he could see through Vaas, into his rotten core. “Unless you’ve come for me,” he asked, “Then by all means, I won’t stop you.”

Vaas kept silent, his lips thinning as he fought with himself to shoot the damn thing in his hand. This smug ass piece of shit Chinese dick hole was too goddamned smarmy for Vaas’s liking.

“But I should warn you. Father won’t notice if I am gone. My adopted sister, however. Oh, she would not rest until you are dead and rotting. Devious one, she is, bless her heart.”

Vaas bit the bullet, speaking up, his voice cracking, “You ... have a sister?”

“Oh yes,” Pagan assured him, both hands in his pockets now, “And we are very close. It’s as if we were related by blood and not by convenience of my father trying to keep me out of trouble. Took her in after Interpol shot her family down. Truly a mess, that. It’s no wonder she lusts for blood as she does.”

Vaas blinked, confused and taken aback. “S-so what,” he said, puffing up his chest as he readied his gun once again, pointing it between Pagan’s eyes, “Boo-hoo! Your sister’s a fucking whore, and you’re a piece of shit who’s going to die!” He pulled at the trigger at long last. And ... nothing. 

Vaas yanked his hand back to examine the gun. Nothing seemed amiss so far as he could see. “Here,” said Pagan, who was suddenly up close with Vaas as he took the pistol from his much smaller hands and looked it over. “Ah, see? Here is your problem,” Pagan said condescendingly, “The safety is still on.” He looked at Vaas with a little pout, as Vaas internally shriveled in humiliation. “Goodness, boy. Don’t tell me that you’ve never handled a gun before,” Pagan chided, “How did you intend to kill anyone before you practiced just a little with this.” Vaas made to swipe the gun out of Pagan’s hand now that he’d fixed the safety, but Pagan held it over his head. He seemed amused as Vaas hopped as high as he could, flailing his arms to get the gun back. Swiftly, almost too quick for Vaas to catch, Pagan flicked at the gun’s barrel, and bullets came raining down into the sand, buried as the tied washed up past their feet. “Oops,” Pagan said as he gave a hearty chuckle, “Butter fingers. But, that’s what you get for distracting me. Now my shoes are drenched, and these were not cheaply made, unlike yours. Really? The quality of leather on this island must be poor given that I can see your toes sticking out of the sides of it. It’s no wonder your people rely on human trafficking to keep your shoddy little villages running.”

Angry, Vaas spat curses at Pagan as he tried to jump higher to get his weapon back. Pagan began to get annoyed by this juvenile display, tossing the gun with a flimsy twist of his hand far out into the water. Vaas paused in alarm, his anger brewing as he looked at Pagan as if to say, “Just you wait. I’ll kill you for this,” then ran into the ocean until it was up to his hips, diving down unsuccessfully to retrieve the gun. “Try a little harder there,” Pagan called after him, turning to walk back to where Vaas had first seen him, “I can see something headed your way. Looks to be a shark.” Vaas raised his head to see that something was indeed coming straight for him. He abandoned his search, plunging into the water to get back to shore. Once he was safe, Vaas looked all over until he could glare at Pagan’s distant form. He gave chase, stamina impressive thanks to living his whole life on this godforsaken heap of land as he caught up with Pagan and threw an ineffectual punch at his middle. 

That drew Pagan’s attention as he once more turned to face Vaas, looking positively offended as Vaas threw another punch at him. Vaas was not so lucky this time as Pagan caught it, twisting his arm as he pulled Vaas to him. Vaas yelped as he was subdued, Pagan holding him close as he pinned Vaas down. Vaas stopped struggling once he grew tired, but remained tense as he breathed in the scent of Pagan’s cologne. They stood in silence, the rising tide as it crash against distant rocks falling into the background as white noise as the two boys stood still. Vaas couldn’t deny that it was tense between them, both ready to fly into a full on fist fight were he to make the first move. He lifted his head to bore holes into Pagan’s smug face with intense ire. 

Pagan’s brown eyes seemed to bore right back, and Vaas felt himself shrink back as he was subdued in another way. Pagan breathed through his nose until his breath was calm. He lifted one hand away from Vaas’s waist to tip his chin up, getting a better look at the thin shine of grease on his forehead and nose, the flecks of mud that dotted his cheeks. “You have beautiful eyes,” Pagan complimented Vaas out of nowhere. That was enough to pull Vaas out of his trance and land a punch to Pagan’s gut, successfully bringing Pagan to keel over, clutching his gut.

“Fucking weirdo motherfucker,” Vaas spat, “Cuidado, es un perro!” 

Pagan once again seemed amused by this. “Ah, so you are bilingual? Spanish? I never would have pegged this shithole to have such foreign tongues save their savage rotten pig latin.” Vaas visibly fumed. If he were a cartoon, his ears would be spewing steam. “The fuck do you know about the Rakyat, fuckin’ gook,” he asked, pointing his finger at Pagan who also pointed at himself, at his cheeky grin. 

“Enough to know that your dearest Rakyat are no more capable of upholding their freedom without bargaining away their own children to sexual predators for food, provided that they have enough money to pay for meager crumbs of moldy bread,” Pagan said cruelly, his smile more cheshire-like as he began to walk backwards and away. “Might I suggest that you look for a way off of this shit heap? Get a real job as a, I don’t know, thankless worker in some dingy sweat shop sewing off brand Nike material? A little diligence can go a long way.”

Vaas bared his canines in anger as he saw red at the corners of his vision.

“Take it from me, eh,” Pagan chuckled before he paused his teasing to look up at the sky in thought before refocusing on Vaas, “My, my. How rude of me. I never caught your name?”

Vaas stomped over to Pagan, standing up straight to intimidate him, though he barely was the height of Pagan’s chest. “Vaas,” Vaas said, his voice seething, “Remember my name. Because next time I see you, you won’t be so lucky. I’ll fucking kill you.” Pagan tossed his head back as he laughed. Vaas thought he looked vaguely like a Bond villain as he did so. “Good on you, Vaas,” Pagan said as he caught his breath, “So. Why not kill me now with your bare hands? Afraid to touch the son of the 1%?”

Vaas’s eyes flashed as he lunged at Pagan, shoving him back until the smug piece of shit fell on his ass and landed in the water. Drenched, Pagan shot a look at Vaas that almost had him back off. “Ooh, you’ve done it now, dearest Vaas.” Pagan’s voice was a deeper rumble as he stood up, holding his arms akimbo as water dripped off of his ruined $1000 suit, “Worse than death, this. Should our paths cross, and no doubt it will, you are going to pay for every cent this with your blood.”

“Bring it, hermano,” Vaas said confidently as he walked away, “It’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you touch me. Stay the fuck away from my islands, or I’ll do worse than drench your suit in sea water. Maybe I’ll hog tie you and make you watch as I bleed you dry and ruin the dress you’ll wear that day, maricón.”

That exchange completed, Vaas stormed away with some shred of pride. So he didn’t get to kill this Pagan Min. Didn’t have the courage for it, if he were being honest. But the next time this man so much as placed a fancy foot on Rook islands, Vaas would make him pay for this.

It was night by the time that Vaas made it back home empty handed. Citra would not like this one bit. Vaas picked at the scabs on his knuckles as he slowly tread over the dirt road to get to the crumbled stone temples where he, Citra, and what was left of the remaining, loyal Rakyat men called home. Vaas was so focused on his prior encounter, his failure to fall through, and fear of his sister’s displeasure, that when a man approached him carrying a knife and told him how pretty he was and how much of a pretty penny he could make selling his ass for him, Vaas charged straight at him. He took the machete out of the stranger’s hands and drove it into his sternum, stabbing the man over until he carved a pretty red canvas from face to groin. Vaas wiped the blood on his eyes, wiping it with the back of his hand ineffectually, licking at some bile that he had spat while frothing at the mouth as he tore apart his first kill.

Damn, but that had felt good. Regaining his bearings and shoring up his defenses, Vaas took the corpse by the collar and dragged it with him to the temple. It wasn’t an important man that he had just killed like Citra had asked for, but thankfully, without a face, he could pass it off as a chief of a far off village to present to her as his very first offering.

As Vaas stepped into the temple, the corpse behind him making audible noises as it squished with each forceful tug, he recalled the smug boy in the fancy suit and fancy shoes who swore vengeance on him one day, and shivered.

**Author's Note:**

> An old piece of work. Hopefully posting it will motivate me to keep working on it. Time is my editor.


End file.
